The Butler's Secrets
by ChelsieSouloftheAbbey
Summary: A birthday one-shot for silhouettedswallow, in which we learn about two of Carson's secrets. Also starring Edith, Marigold, and Mrs. Hughes. S6 CS SPOILERS. Happy Birthday, my dear! :)


**A/N: This is a birthday fic for the lovely silhouettedswallow (on tumblr).**

 **I can't even express how helpful she has been in helping me with my own fic writing "career," and she was one of the first fandom friends I ever made. Here's to you, SS! I hope it does some of your favorites justice, and that it doesn't make you cringe in the spots that could be more succinct. ;)**

 **HAPPY BIRTHDAY!**

 **~HUGS~**

 **CSotA xx**

 **Set during the S6 CS, so read at your own risk! :)**

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The party was in full swing, and Edith couldn't have been happier. As she looked around the room, she was struck by the wonderful feat they'd been able to pull off: an elegant wedding in the church followed by a glorious party at her home (well, not _her_ home ... at least, not any longer) at which the staff _almost_ mingled in as guests amongst the family. It was a beautiful, fitting end to her time living at Downton, and she was grateful. She spared a moment to reflect on how it never would have been that way before the war. Not for the first time, Edith was grateful for the fact that she was living in a different world than the one in which her parents grew up.

She heard a giggle and turned just in time to see Marigold holding Mrs. Hughes's hand, a small biscuit clutched tightly in the little girl's fingers. Marigold appeared to be laughing at something that Carson had said, and the picture of the two heads of staff with her daughter warmed Edith's heart. It brought back memories from her own childhood; Mary may have always been Carson's favorite, but Edith and Sybil had also found sanctuary in the servant's hall with the kindly butler and housekeeper. She felt a sudden pang at how much she would _miss_ the downstairs staff, particularly the Carsons.

Just then, Marigold felt her mother's eyes on her and turned to face her but, instead of running to Edith, the little girl fled in the opposite direction. Edith turned to squeeze Bertie's arm and whisper a soft _I'll be right back, darling,_ into his ear, then she followed her daughter into the depths of the Abbey.

Marigold might be fast, but she wasn't silent, and so she was fairly easy to track. Edith followed the sounds of her daughter's squealing through the green baize door and down to the servants' corridor ... straight into the housekeeper's sitting room. Surprisingly, it wasn't Mrs. Hughes she found in there, but Carson.

"Carson! You didn't have to follow her, but I appreciate that you did. I must say, I expected to find your wife in here with her."

He turned quickly and stood at the sound of her voice. "She remained upstairs to keep an eye on things, Lady Hexham."

"As I have told you before, Carson, just 'Lady Edith' – or even 'Edith,' though I know you'd never do such a thing – would be fine. You're practically family, after all." She bent down and reached out her hands to scoop up Marigold, then she stood again and faced the butler.

Carson was overcome, a feeling that seemed to be assaulting him with alarming frequency these last few days.

"Thank you, Milady. I appreciate that more than you know." He looked to Marigold, who was holding out her hand to him. "We were just going to have another biscuit, weren't we, Miss Marigold? That is, if it's alright with your Mama?"

The words had slipped out effortlessly, and only when Edith's eyes flew to Carson's with their mixture of surprise and terror did he realize what he'd said. He pursed his lips together, temporarily trapping any _other_ foolish things he might say in the safety of his lungs.

Carson extended his arm awkwardly in the general direction of his wife's settee, inviting Edith and Marigold to sit as he fetched the biscuit tin that he knew his wife kept hidden in her desk. As he reached his hand toward the drawer, however, he noted the shaking once again; with some awkwardness, he reached his other hand into the drawer to remove the tin. Having managed to compose himself a bit as he went through those mundane actions, he made his way back to the settee and removed the lid, then held the tin out to Edith.

"Thank you, Carson," she managed, selecting a biscuit for Marigold. "Please, sit and join us – I insist. And I'll have none of that business about not sitting in the presence of a Marchioness. I've been one for mere hours and I am _already_ uncomfortable with the change in how everyone is acting … and we _are_ currently stealing the use of your wife's office, after all. Please," she repeated, indicating the chair by the settee.

Carson tilted his head in acquiescence. "As you wish, Milady," he ventured, still somewhat uncomfortable about the slip of the tongue he'd just made.

"And do have a biscuit," she added. "I have a sneaking suspicion that Mrs. Hughes doesn't keep them in her desk for _herself,"_ Edith said with a twinkle in her eye.

"No, Milady – that is true," he answered, smiling, "but not right now, thank you."

Marigold decided at that moment that she wasn't happy with her present seating accommodations, and dropped down from her mother's lap only to cross over to Carson's seat and put her arms up.

"Marigold, we don't need to be bothering Carson," Edith admonished.

"No, it's alright," he answered. "Come here, lass, come on up." And he reached his hands down to assist her, and Edith noticed the tremor in his right hand, something she'd seen the other day at luncheon as well.

 _Lass,_ Edith thought, and smiled.

"What is it, Milady?" Carson asked.

"You called her _'lass,'_ Carson. I do believe you're taking on some of your wife's characteristics," she joked.

He smiled brilliantly, and Edith enjoyed seeing the overwhelming happiness in his eyes as they crinkled in the corners.

"And I'd be all the better for it, Milady. I won't deny that being married has been a most welcome change, indeed ... something which, if I may, I daresay you'll find out for yourself very soon."

"Yes, I suppose I will - finally!" she said with a chuckle.

"Now, now, Milady – there are those of us who never doubted. It just takes some people longer than others to find happiness."

"Well, I would certainly agree with _that,_ Carson," Edith replied.

They were silent for a moment as Edith reached to wipe crumbs off of Marigold's hand (and, consequently, to keep the girl from brushing them off on the butler's pristine livery). Marigold's hands suitably cleaned, Edith returned her attention to the butler and asked softly, "How long have you known, Carson?"

Charles sat back, a bit straighter than before, and licked his lips quickly as he thought. "I'm sorry, Milady?" he managed.

"About Marigold, Carson. That she's my daughter. Because clearly you _know._ Does _everyone_ downstairs know?" _Oh, God,_ she thought.

It was Edith's turn to look uncomfortable, and Carson tried to put her mind at ease.

"Not to my knowledge, Milady."

"If I may ask, what gave it away? If she were any other woman, I would assume that Mrs. Hughes had told you, only …" _Only Mrs. Hughes is the secret_ _ **keeper,**_ Edith thought. _Would she have given him that kind of information? Surely not._

"You are correct, Milady. I did not tell him, and I thank you for the sentiment," came the housekeeper's voice from the doorway as she passed through and then closed it behind her, turning the lock to keep them from being interrupted. "I can assure you, he worked that one out on his own," she added, shooting a half-smile at her husband as she made her way to his side and ran her fingers through Marigold's soft curls. "Hello, darling," she whispered to the girl, who smiled in reply.

"But ... _how?_ I hope you don't find my questioning you rude, as I do firmly believe that you both can be trusted. You've kept this family's secrets for a generation, and I have no doubt you'll do so for the rest of your days. But …"

Carson handed his wife the biscuit tin, and she put it away in her drawer as he spoke.

"It was simply that you refused to leave her here when you planned to move to London," he said quietly. "And her resemblance to you is becoming clearer with every passing day, Milady," he added. "She looks much as you did at her age."

"Yes," Edith said softly, reaching out to draw a sleepy Marigold into her arms before reclining a bit with her on the settee. "I suppose she does."

"Your secret will remain safe with us, Milady, I can assure you of that," Mrs. Hughes said. "And as for your question about the staff, the only other person who _might_ suspect is Anna. But regardless, we would never allow it to be discussed."

"Of course not, Mrs. Hughes, and I thank you," Edith replied. "I am sure that it'll all come out anyhow now, but Bertie and I are prepared to fight anything that might come our way."

"Marriage does change us in that way, doesn't it, Milady?" Mrs. Hughes asked, and Edith smiled as the housekeeper laid a hand gently on Carson's shoulder and squeezed it briefly. Edith appreciated having witnessed the gesture, knowing that Mrs. Hughes never would have done such a thing in Mary's presence, and definitely not in front of their parents, either. It spoke to a level of comfort between the two women, one that Edith valued immensely.

"It does, Mrs. Hughes," Edith acknowledged. And suddenly she remembered something, and turned her attention back to Carson.

"I overheard Papa earlier, Carson. Are you truly retiring?"

The great man looked overcome with sadness, but he gave a brief nod. "In a way, Milady, yes. The time has come for me to step aside, and it seems that Mr. Barrow will be taking my place here."

"It's because of that, isn't it?" Edith enquired quietly, indicating Carson's slightly trembling hand. "I noticed it the other day, and wondered if perhaps you weren't feeling well at the time. But now ..."

"Yes, Milady, it is," he confirmed. "A butler of an estate such as this one – of _any_ home, really – must have sure and steady hands," he said sadly, "and I'm afraid that quality is one which I no longer possess."

"But _will_ you stay close by? You'll remain in your cottage on the estate, surely?" Edith pressed. "I hate to think that when we return from our honeymoon I'll never see you again – either of you," she said, looking at Mrs. Hughes and then back again at Carson.

"We shall remain, Milady," Mrs. Hughes responded. "I'm not quite ready to retire, and the transition will take some time, of course. But I don't imagine we'd ever go very far anyhow. We've made our life here over the years. It would be strange to go anywhere else, I think, at this stage of our lives," she added, looking fondly at her husband.

"I'm glad to hear it," Edith said softly, standing up with the now-sleeping Marigold. "I know that Mary has always been your favorite, Carson – no, don't even try to deny it," she added quickly, seeing the look in his eye as he stood steadfast before her. "It's fine. Sybil and I had the downstairs ladies looking out for us, didn't we, Mrs. Hughes?"

Mrs. Hughes nodded gently. "That you did, Milady."

"But you both hold a special place in my heart, I'll have you know. And in Marigold's, I daresay, if tonight's little escapade was any indication. Would you allow us to call on you some time, do you think?"

Carson opened his mouth to speak, words that were doubtlessly destined to be about propriety and Marchionesses and servants, but Mrs. Hughes beat him to it.

"We'd be delighted, Milady, thank you."

Edith nodded. "Very good. I'd best be getting back up, or they'll wonder if I've fled the scene completely! Thank you again, Carson, for taking such good care of her."

"It was my pleasure, Milady," he answered. He moved over to the door and unlocked it, then opened it for Edith.

"I'll see you upstairs," the younger woman said.

"We'll be up momentarily, Milady," Carson answered.

As Edith's footsteps grew fainter in the corridor, Carson turned to his wife, opening his arms and welcoming her into a gentle embrace.

"You lied to her, Charlie," she said as she rested her cheek over his heart. "Why? And when _did_ you work it out? Because I know it wasn't only two weeks ago."

"I suspected when she returned from the continent," he replied immediately.

"Truly?" she gasped, backing away from his chest to look him in the eye. "But how?"

"She hadn't been herself before leaving - very tired, very sad," he replied. "And she looked worse when she returned. It was the complete opposite of how she _sh_ _ould_ have looked after such a trip, and when I did the maths about how long she'd been way, I wondered. And then I saw the look you gave Anna one day, when the staff were discussing Marigold's appearance at Yew Tree Farm and how Lady Edith had taken a shine to her. You looked positively terrified. That was when I knew for certain."

"But you never said anything!"

"Of course not, Elsie," he said, placing a kiss to her forehead. "It wasn't my secret to discuss. Besides, Anna clearly _knows,_ so I'm not the only one who lied."

She smiled and raised up on her tiptoes to kiss his lips. "Perhaps not. But you know that Lady Edith was always _my_ favorite."

He chuckled softly, then gently cupped her cheek in his hand.

"I do," he acknowledged, rubbing his thumb over her cheek before tucking a loose strand of hair back into her braid. "You always rally for the quiet ones, those who need a little extra ... _something,"_ he said. "If your husband may be permitted to say so, it is one of your most impressive qualities."

"Charlie," she whispered, swallowing a lump in her throat. "Thank you for saying that."

"I only speak the truth, Elsie. And now, I think it's time that _we_ found our way back up."

Mrs. Hughes nodded, and preceded her husband out the door and down the corridor, holding onto his fingers until they crested the top of the stairs. Just before pushing open the door, however, she stopped suddenly and turned, her husband standing two steps below her. It gave her the odd advantage height-wise, and she placed her own kiss on the top of his head.

"I love you, Charlie. Thank you for watching out for her," she whispered. "I'm so glad she's finally found some lasting happiness."

"As am I, my dear," he replied, placing a hand to the small of her back as she opened the door. "As am I."

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